


Awakening

by PurpleFluffyCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Coming of Age, F/M, First Kiss, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFluffyCat/pseuds/PurpleFluffyCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventeen-year old Severus didn't like girls; he was above such things. Minerva found the abundancy of handsome young men tedious. What would happen if their fascinations were to land upon one another?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening

Severus didn't like girls. He couldn't stand their brittle laughter, candy-smoothness and over-ripe manner. Fluttering eyelashes left him cold, swaying hips made him bored, and the whole performance of his seventeen-year old peers seemed to him like a degrading public mating ritual; an ironic reminder that perhaps evolution hadn't brought humans very far, after all.

Contrary to popular belief, Severus didn't like boys either. A muscular Quidditch-playing frame aroused no interest in him, nor a lithe and supple room-mate. The deep tones of a manly voice did little to pique his interest, - unless of course the bearer had something of note to say, which Severus found extremely rare.

All-in-all, Severus felt rather superior to those possessed by primal urges; a purer type of human being who could happily exist in the sphere of thought alone. He was sure his thoughts were all the more valuable for it, not fogged by silly hormones and basal preoccupations like the others of his age.

Of course, his fascination with her was entirely different.

It was thoroughly reasonable to hold professional respect for a woman - a talented and impressive witch with significant magical power; only right that he should admire her cool demeanour and imagine competency and accomplishment in every possible remit. It was perfectly valid to watch how her hands moved with deliberate gestures and firm accuracy, and of certain academic interest to study the cadence of her voice - the quick, clipped tones that spoke of no-nonsense, good advice and persuasive instructions. It was purely convenient to test a new quill by signing 'Severus McGonagall' several times on a blank parchment, and highly conscientious of him to request extra Transfiguration revision classes for his NEWTs.

Also, it was simply anatomical curiosity that led him to wonder how the curves of her body lay beneath those evergreen robes, and to examine the angle with which the fabric caressed her hip-bones and clung to her breasts and bottom.

Never mind that he woke sweating at night with dreams of those calm, cool hands expertly playing at his body, those firm, certain lips pressed upon his own. It was entirely irrelevant that the simplest instruction in a Transfiguration class morphed into a fantasy-lesson of a totally different kind; a confident woman teaching him how to touch and feel, how to hold, press and enter.

After such a notion, Severus tended to shake a black curtain of hair before his possibly reddened face and think supercilious thoughts of exam results and great inventions. He was surely above such things.

*******

Minerva knew what she liked - a challenge, an enigma, some spark and tussle with unconventional looks and inner strength.

Unfortunately, nothing close to that specification had appeared recently. Her male colleagues were either solemnly married or completely without appeal; it bemused her that some were actually both. Old flames had been sadly extinguished of late and of all her recent acquaintances, none had scored above 'mildly charming' or 'able to hold a conversation'.

On the other hand, the school was filled with handsome young boys bulging with honeyed muscles and sex.... and sufficiently wet behind the ears to refill the great lake after a drought. This last observation seemed to have bypassed her female colleagues however, as staff-room girl-talk centred around each seventh-year male coming of age - the one with a glossy ponytail and the needy blond admirer, the Quidditch champion who had cultivated a washboard stomach and the confident, dark, kissable one who was already engaged to be married. To Minerva, nothing could seem less interesting; their gauche first-forays, clumsy experiments and easy, youthful beauty held no attraction. Minerva didn't like boys.

Of course, her fascination with him was entirely different.

He was quite simply the most intelligent young man she had taught, or even encountered. His questions were piercing and insightful and his manner methodical and almost dangerously intense. He was razor-sharp, dark and lonely, yet carried a desolate sense of romance to which his peers were totally oblivious.

He was so old, cynical, tired, cross and yet new, young and perfect; obviously with no interest in teenage fumbling yet quietly seething to be woken. A formidable brain so convinced of its motions yet so unsure of its own nature. A careful, smooth machine powered by a spring wound so tightly it could break at any moment. Secretly, Minerva wanted to see it break.

She had noticed the way his dark eyes widened and followed her hands. In moments of naughtiness she self-consciously brought them to her throat, tilting her head backwards to expose the smooth expanse of skin there, or brushed them slowly across her abdomen, daring his eyes to follow their unfinished path. His lips parted ever-so-slightly when she spoke, as if trying to inhale the words and use them as an anchor.

Minerva knew what he wanted and also knew that he did not know this himself. She realised that she could hold the key to his enigma, and wondered whether it would be kind to unlock, to allow the brooding to cease. Perhaps she was merely flattered in her middle-age, or perhaps she was now feeling charitable. Perhaps she simply felt due for an adventure, but of course she would never act upon such a ridiculous idea.

*******

Graduation day arrived and Minerva proudly watched yet another batch of students stride along the Great Hall and accept their certificates, now fully-fledged witches and wizards. Lunch was at its magnificent best, and it was late afternoon before she returned, calm and sated, to her quarters to consider packing for the long vacation. In general it had been a cheerful day, but a small sense of impending loss was pricking at the edge of her mind that Minerva was doing her very best to ignore.

After a few minutes came a rap on the door. Minerva called for the person to enter and in walked Severus - her dark, dreaming Severus - still dressed in the formal graduation dress-robes emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest and finished in white fur.

"I came to return these", he said abruptly, thrusting a stack of Transfiguration books toward her. Minerva took them instinctively and placed them on a nearby table. Then followed a silent, still moment when they just contemplated one another - the mistress and the graduate, the cat and the raven. The pair seemed so unbalanced, yet in essence now so equal.

"Goodbye, Severus," Minerva said at last. She dropped her eyes from him and gestured to the door. Severus did not move. Instead, he inhaled deeply and took one step toward her, deadly serious. He fixed Minerva with his dark gaze and placed his hands deliberately on her upper arms.

"Teach me." His voice was very low, but steady.

For a moment, Minerva was transfixed by the intense young man staring into her eyes. Then she sighed heavily. "I have already taught you enough. Such lessons would be better given by someone else. Goodbye, Severus."

He removed his hands from her, expression closed, and seemed to prepare to leave. Minerva inwardly relaxed, feeling that she had probably done the right thing. She closed her eyes to diffuse the tension between them; to allow him to organise himself in the direction of the door.

Suddenly, she felt tentative pressure of hands upon her face and cool lips pressed against her own, perfectly still and unsure. After several frozen seconds, he withdrew, a flash of fear in his face.

"Please. I trust you." Severus' voice was slightly shaken, but steely.

Minerva realised that his brain, so advanced and intellectual, had finally alighted upon what he really needed to learn; to complete his youth and move forward from here whole and complete; to graduate. She also realised that implicit in his statement was the fact that there was no one else whom he trusted in this way. It was her task alone to decide the fate of her dark wanderer - to help him now, however inappropriate that may seem, or to send him confused and hurting into the world where his time may come badly, or not at all.

Minerva considered the tremendous act of openness from her secretive young man, the effort and trouble it must have taken. She reflected upon the enormous compliment he was paying her - a stern, serious woman, gruff before her time and never a great beauty.

Slowly, she guided his hands to her breasts and saw his face illuminate with relief and wonder.

"It would be my pleasure."


End file.
